one day some day when we meet
I will weave my songs into a diadem
I will seat on my bankrupt sofa
and tell the world to be sterile
 
but he who comes our way
will strew our path with palms
like we are the He who came to Jerusalem
riding a donkey amid hosannas
 
many will sing obscene songs
nursed on cords of sorrow 
but from the corner of their eyes
they will carry hyssop to bless the day
whenever I sing the old song: 
'O Come, all ye faithful'
I remember the day when first
we will meet beneath the hill of spices
and whenever we meet some day 
I will weave my songs into a diadem
I will seat on my bankrupt sofa
and tell the world to be sterile                
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
 
                    